Home for the Holidays
by SAR132-4
Summary: Greg Parker wants nothing more than to see his son just one more time. Finally, when Team One has a holiday break, he can fulfill that wish. But will he be too late to see Dean? Will he even be allowed to see his son? *Season 3 spoilers, watch out!*
1. Leaving Toronto

**Oh gosh . . . the plot bunnies in my head have turned into a little rabid pack of fangirls squealing for this fiction to be done with. Sad thing is . . . I'm listening to them. Want to start off?**

**Random rabbit: SAR132-4 owns nothing except her real rabbits and her novel that she really needs to publish or else. ^^ now give me a carrot. **

**Me: *sigh* Here's a carrot . . . **

* * *

"_Oh there's no place like home for the holidays,_

'_Cause no matter how far away you roam_

_When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly face_

_For the holidays you can't beat _

_Home sweet home!"_

Sergeant Greg Parker of the Strategic Response Unit listened to the station as he drove to the headquarters. It was the same every year it seemed, he tried to call or at least send a card to his son in Dallas, and it always came back "return to sender" unopened, no note back. He barely knew what his son looked like anymore, only the photo he kept on his person all the time gave a slight indication on what Dean Parker looked like.

He sighed and pulled into the parking lot of headquarters, he should be happy, it was the last day of work before he went on break, but he couldn't seem to relax and enjoy the air around him. A lot had happened in the last two years, from him going to Dallas to Jules getting shot on the job. From Lou dying and Greg Parker, hostage negotiator extraordinaire, having to be negotiated out of a situation. He parked his car and sat there for a few moments, he had sent his son and ex-wife yet another card this year, he had an idea what was going to happen next.

Getting out of the car and stepping into the cold December air, Greg took a deep breath and went from civilian mode to cool pants mode. Keeping the peace among his team mates and the bad guys was a superhuman feat, but he was up for the challenge.

"Morning Sarge," Winnie, the station receptionist, greeted as she filed documents and took phone calls.

"Good morning Winnie," Greg gave her his trademark smile, the kinds that most fathers give to their children.

"You have some mail here," Winnie said as she handed him a stack of letters, some of them were just plain junk. A holiday sale at Hudson Bay Company, not like he ever shopped there anyway . . . A coupon for Macy's, Sears, and some hockey store in Toronto. Greg didn't play hockey, he could barely skate, but he knew a certain democratically elected team leader who loved it . . . finally, near the bottom of the stack, below a letter from Tim Hortons offering half off on all beverages until New Years, he saw a red stamp on a home sent letter. "Return to Sender" seemed to be carved into his heart, the red ink seemed to be his own blood.

"Something wrong Sarge?" Winnie asked as she saw her boss staring at the same letter for five minutes.

Greg looked up, concealing his shock and sadness in his face, he nodded and forced a smile, "Nope, just the way it always is . . ." he said and walked off to the locker room to get changed.

On his way there, he saw Leah and Jules entering the locker room, Jules smiled, "Hey Sarge!"

Leah greeted him as well, "Morning Boss."

"Morning ladies," Greg said back, Leah and Jules had grown really close since Leah joined, he was a little more than worried about the situation the first day Leah was on the job. Jules looked like she was about to kill the guy taking down the "Jules" sign on the door and replace it with "Women". And then when Leah offered her condolences and help at the briefing, Jules had abruptly replied, "No, we're good."

Now these two were almost sisters. It was a bad thing that Team One had suffered the loss of a team member, but a good thing to gain a new member who more or less brought the "family" closer together. He smiled to himself and opened the door to the men's locker room.

Upon entering the locker room, Greg smelled something, of course men's locker rooms always smelled of _something_, but this time, it was a scent of freshly baked cookies. Spike's locker door was open, he and Wordy seemed to be munching on something and even Sam went by the locker and grabbed something from within it.

Greg cleared his throat rather loudly.

"Morning boss!" Wordy greeted cheerfully, Spike grinned and waved.

"Morning Sarge," Sam said as he laced up his boots and then joined Spike and Wordy by the locker.

"Did some baking last night Constable Scarlatti?" Greg asked and Spike's face lit up.

"Yeah, a Scarlatti secret family recipe passed down for several generations," his voice trailed off mysteriously.

"AKA, several packages of Nestle cookie dough," Wordy interjected and got slapped up on the head by Spike.

"Don't tell him the secret!" Spike argued playfully, he took the tin of cookies out of his locker, "Want one Sarge?"

Greg smiled and put up his hand in defeat, "Okay, okay, I'll take one," he said and took a chocolate cookie out of the tin.

"Oh, and Merry Christmas Sarge!" Spike handed him a small box that was wrapped in festive wrapping paper.

Greg chuckled and pulled at the paper, Spike was practically jumping up and down, "Open it!"

Greg opened the gift, revealing a red and white stripped tie, "A tie, thanks Spike."

"What's going on here?" a different voice spoke up, it belonged to Constable Ed Lane, he had just gone through the door, "And why does it smell like someone baked in here?"

"Cookie?" Spike offered as Ed stared at him with his piercing gaze, Spike laughed nervously.

Ed took one from the tin, and Spike handed him a small package, "Merry Christmas Ed!"

The team leader opened the package and blanched, "When did you get season tickets to the Maple Leafs?!"

"My father won it in a sweepstakes, but he was more interested in the life time supply of Timmies than season tickets. So did you like it? Did you like it?!" Spike asked excitedly.

"I see where the life time supply of Timmies came in . . ." Ed noticed Spike was more hyper than usual, and that was saying something.

"What are you guys doing for the break?" Spike asked to the locker room.

"Well, my daughters have discovered the world of the Easy Bake Oven, so I bet you know what we're doing over break . . ." Wordy said happily, he slammed his locker door shut.

"I loved the Easy Bake Ovens as a kid . . ." Sam blurted out, catching the attention of all the guys in the room. His face turned bright red in embarrassment as everyone stared at him.

"Easy Bake Oven? Seriously?!" Spike asked, a smile playing at his lips.

Sam stuttered in indignation, "I had a sister, it looked interesting so I tried it!"

"What ever you say Sam. . . what ever you say . . ." Spike said laughter erupted from the other teammates.

"Alright, alright, enough fun at Sam's expense," Greg said in a placating tone. The locker room silenced except for a few concealed guffaws from Spike and Wordy.

Spike grabbed his cookie tin and walked out of the locker room with Wordy, he seemed fine, even when he had faced the death of his friend. Team One was still with him, as a family. Ed was on good terms with his son, they were spending time together more and more, Ed would always feel a little separate from his family, but they were always there for support.

Unlike Greg, who had a girlfriend, but still missed his son. All he wanted was to see Dean again, just one more time, it'd provide closure to him and it'd show him that he didn't go wrong in raising his son at least.

"What's up with you?" Ed asked Greg as they walked out of the locker room, he took a closer look, "Something's wrong."

Ed was Greg's best friend, they were partners, and Ed knew when something was up with Greg and vice versa. "They sent back my letter, not even read, just automatically returned to sender."

"Then go to Dallas and tell them you want to see them," Ed stated with conviction, "Show them that you care."

"Last time I did that, they didn't even answer the door Ed," Greg shook his head sadly, "I just wish . . . one more time, I could see my son."

"Then keep going back to Dallas until they open the door, you have a week off, take a vacation, clear out your head and visit your son," Ed told Greg as they walked into the briefing room, Greg kept silent, but he was thinking about it.

Spike had put the tin of cookies in the middle of the table, everyone had grabbed a few, and calls of "Thanks Spike" sounded around the table.

Greg smiled, putting his brave face on for everyone, this was his family, "Okay, it's day before a nice long holiday break," he said, earning a few cheers from the team, "So let's just stay at the station and hit the gym, hit the firing range and get through this shift."

Everyone piled out of the briefing room, Jules and Leah were talking animatedly about something and Sam followed close behind. Spike and Wordy were discussing plans for the holidays. Ed watched as Greg went up to the front desk and asked Winnie something, Winnie nodded and, "On it Sarge," reached his ears.

Ed turned away and went into the gym, he had a feeling he knew what Greg was doing.

The shift ended peacefully for once, and everyone got changed back into their street clothes and went home as snowflakes silently swirled in the air, Greg filed a report or two and Winnie handed him an envelope.

"Here you go Sarge," she said, "One ticket to Dallas."

"Thanks Winnie," Greg said as he gathered up his things and made his way for the exit, "Have a nice holiday," he said in parting.

"You too Sarge," Winnie called out as he left.

Greg got into his car and drove out of the parking lot and onto the bustling streets, he heard his favorite talk show drifting out quietly through the speakers of the radio, he turned it way down so it was barely a whisper in the car. He drove off to his house to pack and get ready to finally visit his son.

* * *

**Last note: I'm hoping to update the other fanfictions soon. Especially a certain one about Jules talking down a deaf teen . . . **


	2. Flight Fright

**Alright, as I said, Christmas presents to all! Updated fanfictions! Because I'm basically chair bound after hurting my back today . . . shoveling 6 inches of compacted snow off my driveway . . . but afterwards, maybe I'll make Team One snowmen! (I've got Aviator sunglasses for Ed already ;) ) **

**Calling from one of my experiences on a flight here, yes, this kind of did happen to me, and I was about to throttle the person sitting next to me, because it turns out, I don't like planes too! **

**One last note, I'll back off then I swear!!!! I forgot the books that Greg Parker read, they used to have them in the cast bios! They took them down –curses- but I'm just going to wing it given his helping nature, self-help books, right? **

* * *

"_And so I'm offering, this simple wish_

_To kids from one to ninety-two_

_Although it's been said_

_Many times many ways, _

_Merry Christmas, to you._"

Greg sat at Toronto City Airport, a small rollerboard suitcase sitting in front of him and it held his clothes and personal items, he stared at his picture of his son.

The holiday song ended, not played on the overhead speakers, but by a man who was sitting across from him. The guy had a guitar and sang Christmas tunes, the cheery flight attendants smiled at him, and just reminded him not to sing on the plane ride.

The flight was practically deserted given the fact that it was midnight the airport still bustled silently with people catching last minute flights.

Finally, a flight attendant with light blond hair in a bun called for their departure and Greg boarded when his section was called. He boarded with a family that had two teenagers one was a particularly immature boy with his hair cropped short. The other person was a girl with long brown hair and blue eyes.

The plane's wings were covered with deicers as the flight attendant was going through the safety lecture. Those always made Greg nervous, he wasn't too big on a giant metal coffin falling out of the sky and exploding.

"Take out your I-pod idiot!" the girl hissed over to the boy as he blared some heavy metal or rap music through his headphones.

The guy made a disgusted face, "Why? If the plane's gonna take a swan-dive at thirty-thousand, I don't think information about how the bottom of your seat serves as a flotation device is gonna help."

"Still, all electronics need to be turned off before they take off!" the girl snapped, this of course was a quiet argument and their parents shushed them before they got too loud.

Greg quietly sighed to himself, this was going to be a _very_ long flight. The plane finally glided out of the gate and he buckled in for the ride. It took off, ascending into the cloudy sky, just before it disappeared from view, Greg saw one last sight of Toronto before the plane turned south and entered the clouds.

"Hello, this is your captain speaking, on board for flight 381 to Dallas/Fort Worth area in Texas, total flight time will be around three hours fifty five minutes," the calm voice of the pilot came, "We will reach our cruising altitude in around twenty to thirty minutes, once we reach our cruising altitude of thirty thousand feet, we'll begin our in-flight service. It is safe now to use non-transmitting or receiving electronic devices."

The teenager turned his I-pod back on and blared a rap song in his ears while his sister rolled her eyes and began reading a book. Greg settled for reading a book himself, _Emotional Intelligence: Why it Can Matter More Than IQ_, the boy saw the book and snorted softly to himself. The girl slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a glare that Jules would have been proud of.

Greg didn't like flying for the reason that it may serve as a coffin one day but now he had a totally different reason for hating it. How did these parents raise their children for goodness sakes?

The plane reached its cruising altitude and the in-flight service began, the guitar man was in the back, his guitar in a separate seat as he slept in his own seat. The flight attendant walked up and down the aisles, getting orders from bedraggled passengers.

When the flight attendant reached their row, Greg politely refused any coffee or beverages, so did the girl. The teenage boy asked, "Could I have a soda?!"

"You are not having soda Dominic. . ." the dad groaned from the seat in front.

"But da-ad!" the boy, now Dominic, groaned, "I need caffeine!"

"Then just go to sleep," the mother snapped tiredly, she muttered under her breath, "Please, just go to sleep."

The flight attendant never had a chance to give or refuse to give soda to the teen because just then the captain spoke once more into the speakers.

"Flight attendants please return to your seats," came the voice, it was still as calm as ever, but with a slight edge that Greg's trained ears could detect.

The flight attendant returned to her seat and several moments later, the pilot made another announcement, "Folks, this is your captain speaking, we are currently skirting around a large snowstorm, we are increasing our speed to make up for any lost time, but we will experience some . . . minor turbulence, please remain seated until the seat belt signs are off."

Greg felt something churn in his stomach. Great. Now there is turbulence.

The plane rose a little and also seemed to gain some speed as it went into the clouds, it jolted a little and Dominic laughed nervously.

"Great, next, the pilot's gonna tell us to don our parachutes and bail out of this hell hole," he muttered, it was still loud enough for Greg to hear and his sister.

Greg's hands were firmly clenching the arm rests to either side of him. He closed his eyes a bit and even began to pray a bit. He wasn't a deeply religious man like Lou was, but he definitely wasn't as atheistic as they came.

"Looks like gramps over there is afraid of some little bumps," Dominic sneered.

"Shut. Up," the sister growled and Dominic clammed up after that.

The plane went around the snowstorm with little difficulty, other than a few bumps and scaring Greg half to death. He was more scared of planes as Ed was of cats, and that was saying something.

Ed's . . . unfortunate incident happened when Team One still had Rolie and Spike was the rookie. They were in an old section of town, chasing down a suspect of an armed carjacking, Spike was just behind Ed as they entered an abandoned warehouse. Someone had mentioned that they had seen a dark shape entering it seconds earlier . . .

_Ed entered the warehouse stealthily with Spike, he motioned for the pair to fan out and check out areas. Spike checked behind a few crates and barrels as Ed checked out higher areas, ledges that the crook may be lying on. _

_Suddenly, Ed noticed movement in the place, he spoke into his radio, "I have movement. Spike, I'm on the south side of the warehouse, next to the barrels." _

"_Copy that, I'm on my way," Spike answered, he silently made his way over to Ed. _

_Ed had already advanced on where the movement had stopped, he turned his flashlight on, and suddenly. _

HISS!

_A cat snarled and jumped off of a ledge, it landed squarely on Ed's face and left a nasty bite and several scratch marks. _

"_Aghhh!" Ed reeled back several feet as the cat clutched doggedly onto his Kevlar vest and managed to scratch his shoulder with its hind claws. _

"_What's going on?!" Greg's voice entered over the air way. _

"_Cat," was all Spike said, "A really mad cat."_

"_Get it off me!" Ed yelled at Spike. _

_He watched still, rooted to the spot, dealing with a criminal aiming a weapon at you was one thing, but a _cat_?! Who were they? Animal control?_

"_Don't just stand there, do something!" Ed yelled as he madly attempted to grab the maddened bundle of fur off his vest. _

"_Spike," Jules's voice interjected over the radio, she had more than one experience with angry barnyard cats, "Spray it with water or throw something to distract it."_

_Spike looked all around, conveniently, a bucket of water was near his boot, it wasn't clean water, but it would do. He hoped. _

_He grabbed the cold and slimy bucket of water and with surprisingly good accuracy for a rookie, hit the cat square on with the liquid. The cat let go instantly and turned on Spike, hissing. _

"_Nice kitty," Spike said backing up. The cat shook itself and hissed, it finally walked off into the shadows. _

_Ed's eyes were wide and he was visibly shaking, a few choice words slipped out of his lips. _

_Suddenly, the radio crackled to life once more, "Subject secured. We've got him, Demaris Avenue," Wordy said as he picked himself up off the ground with a very surprised car thief in his grasp. _

_Yeah, that was all Ed needed to hear, it literally added insult to injury._

Greg chuckled quietly to himself, the plane made its way down to Dallas, past the storm and over the plains. Mercifully, Dominic was now asleep, his jaw slack and he snored lightly. The plane descended into Dallas, only five minutes late from the delay.

Greg unbuckled his seatbelt and got off the plane, Dallas was warm, warmer than Canada at least. Still, there was a chill in the air, and he kept his trench coat on. It certainly wasn't parka weather.

He hailed a cab from the silent airport. It was 2 am, the time had changed from eastern standard to an hour earlier in central time. But it didn't matter what time it was, Greg had put in a long week, and he had traveled overnight to Dallas. The city still bustled despite the late night hour, it was almost Christmas Eve, the taxi made its way to a cheap motel and Greg paid the driver. He had already exchanged his Canadian dollars for US at the airport.

He checked in and entered the room. He was one step closer to seeing his son.


	3. Not a Father

**Finally updating this thing! My birthday was yesterday and guess what I got for presents? Other than Mark Ellis (co-creator of Flashpoint) writing on my wall on Facebook to wish me a happy birthday. I got the complete first season on DVD! **

**But now, back to the Christmas story.**

* * *

_Please come home for Christmas;  
Please come home for Christmas;  
If not for Christmas, by New Year's Night;_

The music drifted through the small sedan that made its way through the neighborhoods of Dallas. Dean Parker smiled and placed a hand on the knob, turning the volume all the way down. His brown eyes scanning the road in front of him.

"Ready for Christmas?" he asked to the other occupant in the vehicle.

The woman sitting next to him shook her head, "I wish dad were here, but I don't mind having it with you," she said.

"Don't worry, by February, he'll be off the tour and back home where he's needed," Dean's smooth and calm voice was apparently inherited from being the son of a earnest and level headed mother and a father who could talk down anyone in Toronto. Not that he knew his father anymore, the vague memories of seeing his father coming home drunk and not even saying a word to him or his mom was enough to make him sick. Dean pursed his lips, trying to shake them from his mind.

"Something wrong?" the girl asked.

"Nah . . ." Dean said, trying to wipe the memories from his mind, "Just a passing thought," he turned onto his street and saw a nice dark blue car. It looked like a Nissan, Dean wasn't good with cars, but what really caught his attention was where the car was parked. It was right in front of his house.

And the man standing at the front door was someone who had tried to visit him two years ago.

Dean felt rage broil up from within him, he stopped the car in front of his house and got out of it, "Liz, stay in the car," he said with a bit of an edge to his tone.

"I'm going to forget you ever said that . . ." Liz replied, her hard blue eyes digging holes in Dean's back, "Not like I'm paraplegic or anything . . ."

Greg turned around to see his son standing next to the car, a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes sitting in the passenger's seat.

"Hey son," Greg said calmly and smiling, he waved towards the woman, "It's been a while."

"Get away from here!" Dean practically yelled, "You aren't welcome here Greg!"

"Look, Dean," Greg tried to talk to his son, almost as if he was talking to an armed suspect, he held his hands up, palms facing Dean, "I just want to talk to you."

"Well, I don't," Dean snarled, "You've got thirty seconds to get your ass off my property, or I'm calling 911 and reporting you for trespassing."

"I know you won't do that Dean," Greg said, "I know you want to see me."

"Oh really?" Dean asked sarcastically, and Greg nodded, "Try me," Dean produced a cell phone from his pocket and held it up.

"C'mon Dean," Greg pleaded, "I miss you, I've been clean and sober for eight years! I just want to see you again, talk to you."

"Well, it's too late, mom says you're a worthless piece of shit, so I'm not listening to you," Dean glared, "Get off of my property. Now."

"Okay, okay," Greg knew he had lost this battle, he backed off. He got back into his car and turned it on. Dean followed the car with his gaze, watching it turn the corner and disappear, hopefully, forever.

As soon as Greg left, Dean walked to the trunk of the car and opened it, getting a wheelchair out of it. He opened it up and put the cushion in, wheeling it towards the passenger's side. He opened the door and looked at Liz, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Liz answered, "I'm not that delicate. So . . . who was that?"

"My dad," Dean answered, helping her take a few shuffling steps into the chair, "he's a drunkard and a horrible guy."

"Really?" Liz looked surprised as she sat down in the chair, "He didn't seem that bad to me."

"He has a way of tricking people," Dean answered flatly as he closed the door and wheeled Liz up to the door and navigated it up the one step into the house.

Liz shrugged, "Whatever you say."

He wheeled it towards the living room, "So, what do you want to do on our first day on break?"

She grinned, "Beat your ass at Halo."

****

Greg felt like beating his head against the steering wheel, how was it that he could talk down a man who skipped a few doses of his meds, but not even be able to talk to his son?

The phone in his pocket buzzed, he answered it, seeing the name on the caller ID was Jules . . . Jules? What did she want?

"Hey, Sarge? It's Jules," came the voice over the phone.

"Hey Jules, everything okay?" Greg asked, a little concern leaking into his voice. He couldn't help it, the team were like his children in a non-creepy way. He knew Jules hated being protected by her team, but it was going to have to be that way.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Jules replied quickly, "I was just wondering if you'd want to go to Spike's annual holiday party, being hosted at my place," the final note seemed a little territorial, if there was anything other than her independence that Jules was protective of . . . it was her house that she renovated by herself.

"Oh, sorry, I can't," Greg apologized, "I'm a little out of range right now."

"Where are you?" Jules asked curiously, "Maybe the team and I can drop by . . ."

"I'm in Dallas Jules," Greg checked the clock on the dashboard, "Look, I'm sorry, but I have to cut this short."

"Dallas?" Jules asked incredulously, "But that would mean you'd have to . . ."

Greg hung up, hating to be so rude, but A) he didn't want anyone, other than Ed, hanging around his personal life and B) his ex-wife was walking out of the building where she worked.

Greg opened the door to his car and got out, making his way towards his ex-wife. He saw the recognition on her face and then the burning hatred.

"Get away me!" she snarled at him, glaring.

"Look, Nancy," Greg said calling her by her first name, "I'm sorry, is there anything I can do?"

Nancy turned on him quicker than Sam with a Remmy, "Yeah, you can get out of my life."

"I can't do that Nancy," Greg said, opening his mouth to say more, but being cut off.

"Yeah, well . . . there's a lot you can't do," Nancy's blue eyes flashed, her light brown hair swishing with the sudden movement of her head.

Greg sighed, "Could you please listen to me Nance?"

"I'll listen to you when you stop talking like a hot shot negotiator, and start talking to me like a husband and a father," Nancy started towards her car again.

"Then how about this?" Greg said, emotion leaking into his voice, "I miss Dean, I miss my son. I've been sober for eight years, I did that for you," his voice getting husky, he coughed a little, "Please."

Nancy had stopped and looked at Greg, she was silent. Greg took that as a sign that she was listening to him.

"The moment you left, I went to Alcoholics Anonymous, I went through the steps. I'm not asking that I live with you again, but please, just this once, I want to spend a holiday with you," Greg's eyes betrayed him as tears leaked out.

Nancy sighed, "Get in the car," she said finally.

Greg smiled, "Thank you."

They drove through the streets of Dallas, and they talked, Greg said how everything was going, and Nancy replied with how she was doing. They hadn't been able to hold a steady relationship ever since they separated. Dean had bully troubles but he managed to avoid conflict and now he was friends with the kids who once tortured him.

"Who's that kid?" Greg asked, "Who Dean was with when I went to the house today?"

"The girl with the blonde hair and blue eyes?" Nancy asked, and Greg nodded, "she's Liz Collet, she's been Dean's friend since we moved here."

Greg nodded, "So he has a good life here?"

"I think he's missing someone from his life," Nancy said finally, "But he's doing good."

They pulled up to the house, all the lights were on, when Greg got out, he could smell the beautiful aromas of cooking food drifting out of the house. Apparently Dean was a better cook than he was. Nancy led him to the door and opened it, she called out to the house, "Hey Dean, I'm home. I brought a friend with me for dinner."

"Okay mom," Dean replied, "Hold on, I'm almost done . . ."

Greg heard something rolling on the floor, he saw Liz wheeling herself out of a room and towards the kitchen, she greeted Nancy with a happy smile and said, "Good evening Ms. Parker."

"Hey Liz, how was school?" Nancy asked, catching Liz's quick glance at Greg.

"It was great, just glad to be on break," Liz smiled and she gave Greg a hard stare, "Who are you?"

"My name's Greg Parker," Greg said with his normal and calm voice, "I'm her ex-husband."

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Parker," Liz wheeled up and held out her hand, he felt her handshake, it was firm and reassuring, just like his.

"Please, just call me Greg," Greg stated with a smile, "No need to be formal."

Dean walked into the room, "Hey mom, I'm done with dinner, what do you want to-" he noticed Greg and Liz there, "Liz, get away from him."

"Aww, c'mon Dean," Liz glowered, "Don't you think you're being a _little_ over reactive here? I mean seriously, he's your _dad_."

"He was," Dean glared, "Until he had to get himself _drunk_," he spat the word out at Greg.

"Dean Gregory Tabien," Nancy snapped, "You will not talk to your father that way."

"He's not my father anymore," Dean snarled, he angrily stomped upstairs and moments later, the house shook as a door slammed. Even Greg flinched.

The trio at the door was quiet after that, finally Nancy spoke up, "I think it would be best if we leave Dean be right now . . ."

Liz nodded, "He made roast chicken," she wheeled herself to the kitchen, "knowing Dean, it's really good."

****

"Hey Ed," Jules approached the bald sniper in the grocery store, he was helping Jules shop, but right now, she had a totally different mission. Boss was hiding something, she wanted to know what.

"Hey Jules," Ed acknowledged, checking out a few bottles of wine.

She flinched and warned dangerously, "If you so much as get a drop of red wine on my new _white_ carpet . . ."

"Don't worry Jules, we'll be careful," Ed smirked, "So what's up?"

"I called Sarge to ask him if he wanted to go to the party," she said and took a deep breath, "He always says yes."

"And?" Ed asked, not looking at Jules, but listening intently.

"Why is Sarge in Dallas?" Jules asked, confused.

"Personal reasons," Ed answered simply, grabbing a few bags of chips and several twelve packs of soda.

"Ed," Jules warned, "I want to know why."

"Why?" Ed asked, "It's his life, he should be left alone."

"The last time Greg did something for personal reasons, he ended up zip-tied to a work bench in a room filled with propane gas and a clock ready to spark," Jules hissed.

Ed shrugged, "Look, Jules, there are some things that Boss needs to do alone. This is one of those things."

"It's about his son, isn't it?" Jules caught on quickly.

"Yes, now, if you please, which one do you prefer?" Ed asked, holding up two cookie containers, "Pepperidge Farm or Chips Ahoy?"

Jules snatched the Pepperidge Farm cookies out of his hand and threw it in the cart, "Alright."

"Don't want to smash them . . ." Ed grumbled, "Spike wouldn't like that."

* * *

**Nothing to add, just don't forget to review! They're like Pepperidge Farm cookies to me!**


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